In my last post, I talked about how nothing in my wardrobe fits me. Both because I have a chaos goblin – also known as extreme hunger in anorexia recovery – causing massive Biscoff-induced overnight rapid weight gain, and also because those clothes never fit my identity in the first place.

Gaining 3kg multiple times overnight and waking up to find you can’t get trousers past your oedema-swollen thighs, even though you wore them yesterday, is now just a Tuesday. It is a real problem, and I’m so glad I bought clothes in two sizes during a sale a few weeks ago, otherwise I’d have had to go to town bottomless to get emergency clothes. I guess, though, if that happened, it still wouldn’t be the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done.

My son – prior to his crunchy foot injury, sorry I’m really behind with my blog – and I (thankfully not bottomless but still very swollen) decided we would head to town to get me some more clothes. I would need his expertise; he’s incredibly stylish.

Before we went shopping, I had to think about what clothes I’d like to buy, and this whole identity-claiming process was inspired by my son, and, well, my undying love of sausage rolls.

Thinking About My Style

I bought Greggs merch on eBay recently for my love of the Pastry Altar, the joke of sausage roll thrice, and because I needed new indoor relaxing clothes. Greggs clothes are all blue, and I came into the living room looking like I work there. As soon as I walked in, my son said, “That colour REALLY suits you,” and it gave me a full-on soap opera harp-playing flashback to that 18-year-old version of me. It’s what inspired my last post.

I always loved wearing blue – Italia shirts, navy tops, white cardigans, and a very specific dark navy colour of flared jeans. I was obsessed with flared jeans, especially with my Nike Air Max poking out the bottom. I also loved brown and beige; I had this pair of dark brown cords I was absolutely obsessed with, and they just so happen to be Jellycat bear colours.

I’m now 41, not 18 anymore, but 18 is the last time I truly wore what I wanted and expressed myself through clothes. While I’ve grown older (somewhat matured, although that’s debatable considering I took my Jellycat bear to town with me), it’s a good starting point. My son and I found that navy really does suit my skin tone and makes me look less ill than black does. I have incredibly pale, slightly yellow-toned, see-through skin, and navy makes me look more pink, whereas black makes me look like a Tim Burton character.

It was actually really meaningful that my son complimented the blue, because he never knew how much I loved it. He’s only ever known me in black. I did dye my hair very dark blue once, but that’s the only hint he’s had.

With a bunch of colours in mind, and armed with a colour palette I found on Pinterest that I loved – navy, brown, beige, cream – we headed to the shops.

Clothes Shopping in Recovery is a Minefield

I wish I could say shopping was the best day in recovery ever, that I found the nicest clothes, they all fit, and now this part of self-identity therapy is done. However, shopping while in anorexia recovery is an INCREDIBLY stressful experience.

Clothes sizes are already complete nonsense, but now imagine trying to dress yourself when you’re even more out of proportion than the creatively imagined “standard sized humans” clothing companies design for – because you have a VERY swollen recovery belly and oedema in your extremities. At the same time, while looking at clothes you like, you hear a voice in your head – Corrupted Clippy – offering helpful commentary about how much weight you’ve gained, how it’s going to spiral forever, how you shouldn’t be spending any money on yourself and how you don’t deserve to buy or dress this body nicely because weight gain (to Clippy) is a mark of failure, of being out of control, of lacking discipline.

Clippy does have a point, about one thing: money. These won’t be my forever clothes. I’m VERY likely to gain even more weight, and fast. So there’s this constant debate: should I just buy cheap clothes so I can get rid of them in a few weeks when I grow out of them, or get multiple sizes where money allows?

Growing out of entire sizes rapidly is hard to comprehend, especially when you buy them too big and then the next week can’t get them past your thighs. To my brain, it’s like trying to imagine distances in space – like how far it is from Earth to the Voyager space probe: unimaginable. And yet, somehow, my waist circumference has increased by that distance in a week. Or a day. It’s even worse when you like the clothes you’re now bursting out of because Biscoff gave you Hulk rage. I have genuinely grieved over clothes. And over everything that growing out of them represents.

I also don’t have a bank account that allows endless spending on new clothes every few weeks. And I’m not exaggerating – it’s been literal days sometimes. I’ve gained 3kg in a single night and kept it on forever. Twice. And it’s kept going up from there.

So no, buying clothes in recovery – especially in the messy middle, where I am – is not fun. It is necessary though, unless I actually want to be bottomless. I try to make it fun, but then hope it doesn’t backfire when I have to part with the clothes I just bought. When will that be? A week? A month? Sometimes a single day. So that’s what I tried to do, despite all the noise in my head.

Primark

In a stroke of luck, a few clothing stores were having massive sales. It made some decisions easier. A fire sale usually means the shop’s inventory was damaged in some kind of terrible fire; my wardrobe has been destroyed by the fire of recovery, so it felt apt.

I headed to Primark first and found lots of blue, white, and navy clothes. I’ve been loving workout leggings in recovery. I wear them to Lidl instead of the gym, but still. Workout leggings assume the wearer actually has thighs and calves – so, pro tip: if you’re in recovery, they’ll fit, and they actually help with oedema thanks to the mild compression. Mild being the key word – not tight because you grew out of them in a day.

The same is true of the “tummy control” panel in workout gear, which in anorexia recovery is more like a “keep your organs in place and stop that sloshing around” panel. It won’t flatten anything (recovery belly is too 7-months-pregnant massive), but it will support it.

I got navy and grey workout shorts too, for wearing at home. It’s summer, and recovering in summer is its own hell. That’s where my next purchase came in: oversized t-shirts to wear with them. I got some two sizes too big. They should fit me forever, because they’re oversized anyway.

I did still get some black – combat shorts, a black vest, and a white vest to wear outside – but that’s a challenge in itself. I can’t remember the last time I wore shorts outside. It’s been decades. I usually just suffer through the heat in leggings. That’s still part of the body image stuff I mentioned in my last post. I will try to challenge myself to wear them out.

H&M and Sports Direct

H&M was also having a sale, and by this point, I was getting totally overwhelmed by trying to buy clothes and fight Clippy at the same time.

“You’re spending too much.”

“What’s the point? You’ve gained so much weight, these won’t fit you tomorrow.”

“Everyone will laugh at you wearing that. Just get more black.”

Ugh.

To help with the overwhelm, I looked for items my son might like. I found a sardine t-shirt. My son LOVES fish, especially sardines. I got excited thinking of giving it to him, and it helped me find a few beige t-shirts and a really nice navy French-style shirt.

I’d had enough by this point, but did pop into Sports Direct to look for Nike Air Max. The ones I liked were £100 in a sale. The last time I bought Nike Air Max, they were £55 brand new. That’s some wild inflation. I couldn’t afford that, so I left with an oversized cream Firetrap t-shirt because I have always LOVED Firetrap clothes. Then we made our way home.

eBay to the Rescue

At home, I kept thinking about how the Nike Air Max would have been perfect – because I won’t grow out of them with weight gain. They’re something I can keep forever. I ended up looking on eBay, and as luck would have it, I found a pair in beige, in my size, brand new, and matching the Pinterest colour palette I’d built. The seller was only charging £60.

I quickly added them to my cart and got excited for their arrival. I’m so glad I did, because it made the day feel less overwhelming by giving me something to look forward to.

They arrived a few days later, and I am obsessed with them. Putting them on felt so familiar and so “me.” It was like I was the Nike version of Cinderella, reconnected with both my lost shoe and my lost self. I wore them all around the house and felt that same joy I had as a kid. When I was little, my nan would ask what I wanted as a treat from town, and I always chose trainers. I’d be so happy I’d take them to bed with me. She always thought that was sweet and hilarious.

After walking laps of my flat in my bouncy nostalgia time machines, I noticed how much they help my joints too – thanks to the air bubble. I’ve had terrible knee issues since childhood. No wonder I loved them so much when I finally bought a pair at 18.

These Shoes Were Made For Walking (To Lidl)

The Nike Air Max have really helped me since. I’ve worn them everywhere. It truly feels like I’ve reconnected with a part of myself I lost. I’ve loved wearing navy outside, and I’ve worn it to the hospital (when my son hurt his crunchy foot), and to Lidl many times due to the urgent need to restock Biscoff and peanut butter every few days.

However, I forgot how much decision fatigue clothes used to give me. That’s new. I’ve spent the last 10 years wearing the same wardrobe: identical trousers, cardigans, hoodies. I didn’t have to think about the weather, what was appropriate, or what looked good. I just got dressed.

Still, that seems an easier mountain to climb than the rapid weight gain mountain. I don’t think anyone ever gets used to that. I know identity therapy requires more than just buying clothes and Nikes – but at least I have the right shoes now.

And at least I’m not climbing these metaphorical mountains bottomless anymore.

These Nikes are made for walking, and thats just what they’ll do, one of these days these Nikes are gonna walk all over you:-